The Dying Year
by Ibelieveinsam
Summary: Sam has just gotten his soul back and Dean will do anything to keep his hell memories at bay. However, Dean questions his decisions after a hunt gone wrong leaves him with a severely sick and injured Sam stranded in the woods during a fierce storm. Limp!Sam and Protective!Dean
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This fic is for an awesome friend and person, Elena (elektra56765 here on fanfiction. net). This was supposed to be her Christmas gift but unfortunately as you can see it's a little late. She wanted a fic that takes place in season 6 that involves a hunt in the snowy woods and a cabin. I figured I could post the prompt since it doesn't give too much away. This fic takes place after Unforgiven in season 6 on New Year's eve so there are obvious spoilers through that episode. As always, please let me know what you think. I found it a bit of a challenge to write the bros during this time period so hopefully it's okay. Also, please check out Elena's Tumblr account if you get a chance at Clairvoyantsam dot Tumbler dot com. She is very talented!

A/N 2: The title of the fic comes from a line in the excerpt of the poem entitled "The Passing Of The Year" by Robert W. Service

Happy reading!

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The Dying Year

_And You, deep shrinking in the gloom,  
What find you in that filmy gaze?  
What menace of a tragic doom?  
What dark, condemning yesterdays?  
What urge to crime, what evil done?  
What cold, confronting shape of fear?  
O haggard, haunted, hidden One  
What see you in the dying year?—Robert W. Service_

He wandered aimlessly, bitter cold stinging his nose and face, a wall of snow making it impossible to see only what was directly in front of him. One tree looked like another and he had no idea if he was making progress or if he was just wandering in circles. The more he walked, the less sure of anything he was, even who he was and what he was looking for. He knew he was looking for someone very important but the name seemed lost on him as disorientation set in. He also had a strange feeling of urgency pulsating through him that he needed to do something desperately.

"I can help you make it right," the voice said out of nowhere. The voice came on the heels of another cold gust of wind, which made him wonder if his mind was playing tricks on him, but then he heard it again.

"I know what it's like to want to fix it, to find the truth. Come with me," the voice said again, with a tantalizing sound to it that made him stop in his tracks and take notice.

How could this mysterious voice know him so well, he wondered. Yes, he wanted to make it right. He should follow him, he thought with renewed purpose heading deeper into the woods, not realizing he was heading farther and farther away from safety and from the person who was desperately searching for him.

ooooo

"Dean, would you stop staring at me like that," Sam groused, as he dug into his bowl of cereal. "I'm fine."

"No you're not Sammy," Dean said, the vision of his recently re-souled brother collapsing to the floor fresh in his mind.

Just then, Sam let out a loud sneeze, blowing cornflakes across the table. His face flushed in embarrassment, or was it fever Dean wondered, as he grabbed a napkin to blow his nose.

"Are you sick?"

Sam just glared at Dean's over attentiveness as he cleaned up the mess on the table.

"It's just a sneeze," Sam said, attempting to calm his brother, who looked like he was on the verge of dialing 911, down.

However, Sam let out another sneeze and then another, then for good measure a cough too.

"Just a sneeze, huh?" Dean said, in a know it all tone.

Sam just brushed him off, depositing his half eaten cereal in the trash can.

Dean also eyed this uneasily.

"Well we have a hunt," Dean said, picking up a newspaper and trying to break the tension between them. "Seems there is a werewolf up in North Dakota."

"Dean, you know I wanted—"

"Sam, don't start. We are not going over this again. I told you. What was walking around for that year and a half wasn't you."

"But Dean—"

"I'm not going to argue the point any longer," Dean declared, cutting him off again. "It's not worth the risk. It's New Year's eve. Time for Auld Lang Syne and all that crap. Put it behind you," he instructed.

They were fresh off the arachne hunt and Sam had nosedived to the floor and Dean wasn't going to watch it happen again. He didn't even want to think of those all too brief, yet all too long, moments when he couldn't rouse his little brother, as he envisioned the nightmare, _hell_, Sam was seeing in his mind. He had gotten him off the floor, out of Rhode Island, and to another hotel as far away into the west as possible.

Sam sat with his head down, staring at the table. He sniffled once, wiping his nose on his sleeve all too reminiscent of a six year old Sam seemingly taking in Dean's words.

_"But we have to move again?" Little Sam asked his brother, fresh tears in his eyes._

_"Yes."_

_"But why?"_

_"Because we have to keep you safe."_

_"But what about Banks?" Sam asked, inquiring about the cat Sam had found prowling the hotel parking lot. Sam had found him in a snowbank, leading to his apt name and had been leaving him tuna every night._

_"He'll be okay."_

_"No he won't. He doesn't have someone to watch him like I do. If something happens to him, it will be all my fault." _

Sam sniffled again bringing Dean out of his reverie and his remembrance of the profound guilt Sam had felt about leaving the stray cat behind. Sam never could let things go and he knew it was going to be hard, if not impossible to get Sam to forget the fact that he was walking around without a soul.

He watched as Sam got up and packed his bag. Dean didn't like the idea that Sam might be getting sick, but for now a minor cold would have to be ignored in favor of keeping Sam's hell memories at bay.

ooooo

Dean was astounded how easy it had been to find the guy. Also, Sam didn't seem any worse for wear despite the occasional nose blowing and cough. He'd obediently followed Dean's instructions, once again his shadow like he was when they were kids. They had tracked the werewolf down, practically with its own trail that it had left behind. He was apparently quite the ladies' man and left around a lot of bodies in various hotels. His victims were all females and he had a sense of humor leaving the victims covered with a red hood over their faces, apparently a callback to the wolf in "Little Red Riding Hood." Both brothers quickly realized that the guy was not only just a werewolf but a serial killer. He wasn't an innocent victim in the mess but someone who probably reveled in the idea that he was a werewolf and it made him all the more powerful.

However, his calling card proved to be his undoing as the fabric bags weren't exactly found in every Walmart. A little online investigating and a craft store later, and they were in business. They had simply stolen some camera footage from the store and identified the guy quickly. Then armed with the photo in hand and some magic from Sam on the computer, they found out where he worked, his picture plastered on a real estate website. Once they had his name, they found his address. They got him cornered leaving his house. Dean was sure they'd make it back to the hotel to see the Ball drop in Time's Square. However, there were some complications. The bastard was fast and had run back into his house. Sam made chase but was shoved unceremoniously into the banister causing a wound to his head. After multiple reassurances to his brother that he was fine, Dean had gotten the drop on him. He caught up with him, shooting at him, sure he had dinged him but it was not enough to take him down completely. He had jumped out the window.

They chased him down to the entrance of the woods and Dean was disconcerted by the fact that Sam was positively winded, his apparent flu, and now head wound, complicating things.

"I think we should split up," Sam rasped, breathlessly.

Dean pondered this a moment. He finally had Sam back and he surely didn't want to separate from him again. It was also snowing and judging by the massive cloud cover rolling in, Dean was sure it was going to be a serious storm.

Dean shook his head no and gestured for Sam to follow him. Sam sighed in exasperation or lack of oxygen, Dean couldn't discern which, but followed along behind him. Dean eyed him surreptitiously the whole way. Sam seemed slightly pale and congested. However, his head didn't look too bad and was barely bleeding. They trudged through some heavy snow cover into the woods, passing by a cabin on the way in. After walking farther into the woods, Sam stopped in his tracks.

"Look," Sam began. "We aren't finding blood traces or footprints right now with all this snow covering it up. There's a cabin here. We could split up and meet back here in an hour tops."

Dean couldn't deny the logic of the situation. They could cover more ground that way. However, Sam's flu seemed to be taking a toll of him now and he wasn't sure how well he'd do on his own.

"Okay," Dean finally acquiesced. "One hour." If they could get the hunt over as soon as possible, the better off they'd both be.

He watched as Sam ran ahead of him, somewhat slower than his usual. Dean just hoped he'd find him first so Sam could take to the bed and recover. He wasn't going to risk Sam's health or that fragile wall in his head coming down any time soon.

Dean ventured further into the woods, suddenly noticing that he was finding bloodspots. The guy was bleeding faster and quicker and not even the heavy falling snow was enough to cover that much blood up.

"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf now?" Dean mused aloud.

He knew that he wasn't, although the rapidly increasing snowfall was starting to alarm him just a bit. He knew he'd probably find the guy before Sam but he just hoped Sam would make it back to the safety and hopefully warmth of the cabin soon enough.

ooooo

Sam walked further into the woods, his head aching him as he walked. He hadn't told Dean but he was feeling worse than before. Dean had been hovering over him so much the last few days that he didn't want any more attention or mother henning. He was actually glad Dean had even agreed that they could split up He wanted to find this werewolf. Sam couldn't fathom the pure evilness of the guy. Usually he felt some sympathy for those who were turned. After all they didn't choose it, much like he didn't choose the demon blood. However, this guy clearly lacked a conscience, seemingly taking delight in the destruction he caused. He shivered, not from just the cold, but from the thought that his soulless body had been much like that, cool, callous, unforgiving. It was everything he ever feared and even though he only got brief flashes of what he was capable of, it chilled him to his very soul, the one he was glad he got back, to even think of it.

_Maybe I should feel more sympathy_, he wondered. _I'm not that far removed from the guy_.

He kept walking, noting that the snow was heavier than ever before. Even though the cold air whipped his face, he could feel heat rising to his cheeks most likely from fever. He figured he should turn back, find Dean, or the cabin. However, the more he walked, the less sure he felt of what he was even doing, his sense of purpose diminishing like his footprints in the snow. Then there was that voice who seemed to know just what he needed to do. He followed the voice further along into the woods. He felt like he was burning up, yet very cold as the snow fell harder. He soon discovered that the voice belonged to someone, a pale young man, practically blue in color.

"You don't need that coat. Do you?" The voice asked him. "It's heavy. It's slowing you down. That's what fear does, slows you down, stops you from fixing things."

Sam nodded his head like a puppet, taking off his coat, leaving it there on the ground. He couldn't live in fear. He had to fix it. Who was telling him that he should forget it, put it in the past? He couldn't remember but he was wrong.

ooooo

Dean continued on, pretty sure by his watch that the hour had expired. He imagined one pissed off little bro if he didn't make it back in time or one pissed off person himself if Sam was not where he said he'd be.

The blood trail was growing though and soon it was apparent. The Big bad wolf was near death. He lay in the snow mound, morphed between human and wolf as if trapped between two worlds. Dean picked up his gun and finished the job, finding that it bothered him very little to put the evil bastard out of his misery. Just as the shot rang out, Dean heard another resounding crack. Was it the bullet's ricochet? He didn't know, only that the sound was awful and loud and he still had a little brother possibly wandering out there and he needed to find him.

ooooo

Sam continued to follow, now stripped of his jacket, icy chills ran up and down his spine. But he had endured worse hadn't he? Memories hung, dangling, like the icicles forming on the branches, dripping, bleeding into his peripheral vision of a cold dark place he was trapped in. Perhaps this was his penance anyway for all that he'd done.

"Now look what you did," the spectre said suddenly stopping. "You led them astray. You made them die."

Sam hung his head in shame. It was true. He'd ruined it for everyone.

The piercing eyes of the spectre bore through him as the guilt settled like a grenade in his stomach, ready to explode at any moment. He coughed loudly and painfully as it rattled his chest.

Suddenly there was a shriek, so piercingly loud that Sam covered his ears to drown it out. Then a loud crack that split through the air. Sam couldn't be sure where it was coming from but suddenly it was as if hell itself rained down upon him as something crashed down from above and sent him to the ground. All the air was ripped from his lungs in one fell swoop. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't move as his world spun wildly, until he stopped and a heavy weight pressed him into the snow. He couldn't discern where all the pain was coming from but he was certain every bone in his body had been shattered at exactly the same time. He faded on the verge of unconsciousness as the ghostly figure, or was it his conscience, hovered just over him.

"It won't be long," the voice whispered. "It only hurts for awhile and then you feel nothing at all."

Yes he was right. He was starting to feel nothing at all. The guilt was still there as tangible as the snow that threatened to halt his breathing but everything else was numb.

ooooo

Dean took off in a jog, going as fast as he could through the deep snow in the direction Sam had gone. There were no longer footprints for him to follow but he kept going. It seemed Sam shouldn't have ventured so far but the sound had most likely come from that area. Nearly another hour passed as he tried to keep a fast pace. However, it was a losing battle with the thick snow cover. He couldn't understand how he hadn't found Sam yet. The kid wasn't moving fast at all before and he was minorly hurt and ill. He should be finding Sam. He should be findng him what? Dead in the snow? The thought was unfathomable but with the frigid temperatures, even he wasn't sure how much he could stand. His toes were frozen.

Finally he saw a sign, but not the one he wanted. It was Sam's coat, balled up in the snow. Why in the hell had he taken it off? This meant Sam was out there in the elements with one layer of clothing on.

"Sam!" He yelled. "Sammy!"

Nothing, no response.

He walked further along, suddenly noticing what appeared to be the remnants of a mini avalanche. Was that the cracking sound he heard earlier? Twisted tree branches and debris lay amongst the ruins. Was Sam buried amongst this? He didn't know. He spotted a downed tree, mostly just a log now really, stripped of its branches, roughly 15 feet in length.

If he hadn't looked closely, he might not have noticed it. There appeared to be something sticking out from under the tree. Or was it someone?

He flew the next few feet through the snow, not feeling his toes anymore but racing to his brother's side.

Sam was under the tree with the branch strewn over most of his body. The other half of him was completely buried in the snow. His arms were sticking out and the side of his face was firmly pressed in the powder, a thin stream of blood staining the fresh powder as his head wound bled freely once more. Dean couldn't detect if Sam was breathing at all, only feel the icy chill of his skin, see snow that had filled Sam's nostrils. The most frightening thing of all was Sam's eyes were wide open. There was nothing there. It was as if he was staring at his soulless brother again, the eyes lacking everything that made Sam who he was, gone. Was he dead or were they frozen that way? Dean could only look away, up at the falling snowflakes, like little bits of paper falling from the sky, wishing the answer were written on them to tell him what to do.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N 1: So I know that it's been ages since I posted this story. First and foremost, I need to apologize to Elena for leaving her hanging. She is the kindest person and even made me the coolest S1-9 limp!Sam gifset. She never once made the slightest complaint that the story was never finished or even asked for it. I truly am sorry, Elena for making you wait FOREVER for this. Also, it was her birthday last Monday and the plan was to surprise her with this update but life sort of intervened. Once again, she was ever patient as she waited for her surprise. Happy birthday Elena and thank you for being such a great friend. Sorry for being a not so great one.

A/N 2: Part of the reason the update was so late was because of some personal problems I've been having that have caused a great deal of stress and anxiety so I was feeling unmotivated. Also, I wasn't feeling very motivated because, to be honest, not many people seemed very interested in the story. The landscape for Supernatural has changed significantly since I first started writing and story preferences have changed too. I do understand that maybe there might not be as much interest in stories that focus solely on the brothers. However, Sam and Dean will always be the heart and soul of Supernatural, for me. It would mean the world to me if anyone who does take the time to read this does drop a small review just to let me know that I'm doing a good job, or a not so good one. I will take either. I hope I don't sound like I'm begging for reviews but they do mean a lot to me. I am very thankful to the eight people who did read this chapter and reviewed it. Thank-you again.

* * *

Dean sat on the cold, snowy ground, continuing to gaze up at the snowflakes above him, like ashes falling from the sky on what felt like his now decimated world. Then he glanced down at Sam who was still pinned by the snow and tree trunk as a snowflake fell into his opened eye, melted and dripped down his face as if he was weeping. He watched the tiny drop of water make a trail down Sam's face and finally it snapped him back to reality. He didn't have time for self pity. If there was any chance of saving Sam, he had to act now,_ and fast_.

He immediately cleared Sam's nostrils and the area surrounding his mouth and face of snow so he could breathe better.

_Is he breathing?_ Dean wondered but he refused to believe he wasn't so he didn't dwell on it.

He didn't have a shovel or anything that could aid him in his effort but he had two hands and he started to dig. He dug under Sam, his mind not having a coherent thought any longer. The words, _Dig Dig Dig,_ running through his mind like a mantra. Somehow in his muddled brain, however, his mind devised a plan that if he could dig enough snow out from under and around Sam that he could push Sam down and slide him out from under the tree trunk. He knew there would be no lifting it on his own. He kept going, not sure how much time had passed, not caring either. Sam's upper half was almost totally free. Then he got up and started to pull, the oppressive weight of the trunk was off Sam's back now. It had been lying there at a sort of crooked slant, one side over Sam's back, the other over his right leg. He tugged on Sam's arm and Dean couldn't help but notice how stiff Sam's arms were that he couldn't even bend them down. He inwardly cringed and bit back a taste of bile, staying focused on the task but he couldn't get leverage. He dug some more, moving snow both under and off Sam's legs and back, guiltily pressing Sam down in the snow in an attempt to free him further. He saw that the trunk was lying across the two piles of snow he had dug through, almost like a bridge and no longer on Sam. Then he got up and tugged again, feeling a give. He was managing to slide Sam out. He yanked harder and finally Sam's legs began to slide forward under the massive trunk. He pulled Sam toward him until he was completely clear.

He grabbed Sam against him. Sam's entire body was rigid, hardly maneuverable. He tried to feel for a pulse and he thought, maybe just maybe there was a very slow beat there. However, he wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking. He knew though that the frigid cold was on his side. People could survive in the cold. The cold preserved things. How many times had he heard stories of people pulled from under the ice after 30 minutes and they survived? Or the stories of children who had wandered away from home, frozen to death, and somehow been miraculously resurrected? He refused to believe Sam couldn't be like them. He banished the thought that those people had the benefit of being rushed to a hospital and Sam did not.

He grabbed Sam's jacket and placed it over his body, knowing deep down it would do nothing to keep Sam warm. He took off his own jacket, lying it flat on the ground and the cold settled into his bones. With all the digging, he'd hardly felt it. Now he felt everything, his fingertips and toes zinging with a stabbing pins and needles sensation, but he ignored it. He yanked Sam again under the arms, aware of what a deadweight he was, on to his own jacket. He tied the sleeves around Sam to hold him in place. It was the best he could do for a homemade sled.

The trip back to the cabin was arduous. He had to carefully drag his brother over the snow while he stepped through drifts that sometimes went up to his knee. Sometimes Sam would sink into the snow and he had to pull with all his might, the fact that he could barely even feel his fingers complicating things. The blinding snow blurred his vision but he was acting purely on instinct. Finally he saw their destination in sight, just a mere outline in the blizzard but a small glimmer of hope giving him the adrenaline burst he needed to pull Sam the rest of the way.

The door to the cabin was half buried in the snow and he had to leave Sam nearby to dig it out. The door was locked but he didn't have time or the mobility in his fingers to pick it so he put what tiny bit of energy he had into kicking the door open. Finally it opened after several tries. He knew on any other given day, he'd have had it open in seconds but he could feel the cold making him feel heavy too, the prospect of hypothermia and frostbite all too vivid in his mind.

He slid Sam into the cold, dark cabin. He could barely see a hand in front of his face. How was he going to help Sam?

Fire. He knew he needed to start a fire first, get the place warm enough. He felt around the place. He knew there had to be a fireplace as he had seen a chimney before. Why hadn't he thought of getting the place sorted earlier? He cursed himself for not first getting a fire started in the fireplace before they set off. He also cursed himself for not just letting his brother stay behind where he'd be warm and safe.

He kept feeling around the dark room, until he tripped over something. It was a stack of wood. He couldn't believe it. Maybe they might have a tiny bit of luck on their side. His eyes were starting to adjust to the inky blackness and he could make out the shape of the fireplace nearby.

He ran back over to Sam, who was still lying there stiffly on his jacket, his eyes with the vacant stare. He also saw that there was a small couch in the room and he braced himself to pull Sam on to it. He removed his coat from under Sam and lifted, the whole ordeal taking an immense amount of effort. However, finally he had Sam settled there.

"You with me Sam?" He asked, knowing full well that Sam wasn't anywhere near with him mentally. However, it helped to talk with him, to feel that he was still there, fighting.

"We'll just get a fire started and get you toasty warm. Then we'll get the heck out of here and go celebrate the New Year."

The words bounced off the sparse walls, sounding empty and hollow even to him.

Dean guiltily took Sam's jacket off of him as he spoke. He knew one of them had to have a zippo or they were screwed, even more so than they already were. He then realized how sodden both coats were now and would do nothing to keep Sam warm anyway. He rifled through the jackets, finally finding the lighter. He threw the wood into the fireplace, but found it incredibly hard to get his fingers to cooperate as he tried to light the lighter. He had to focus just to get it unlatched. Finally it popped open, a flame shining forth, casting an eerie glow through the cabin. He found some old newspaper nearby on a coffee table, grabbing it and balling it up, lighting it on fire and igniting it. Finally a fire blazed forth and Dean soaked in the warmth for a moment. He knew if he wasn't able to warm up slightly, he'd be useless to Sam.

His eyes fixated on the flames. There was dad on the funeral pyre. _Sam on the pyre. _He flinched in response and was forced to look away.

He took off his gloves and rubbed his hands together taking note how bright red they were, blisters starting to form. _Frostbite._ He had suspected it. However, there was nothing he could do for now, only slowly try to warm his fingers. He pushed the coffee table aside and ran over to the couch. He pushed it forward, closer to the fire so Sam could get warm. He rushed around the small cabin, taking note of the surroundings. It was only one bedroom, a bed off to the side in the other room and a small bathroom next to it. There was a small kitchen as well. He ran into the bathroom first, grabbing as many towels as he could find, placing them on top of Sam. He dried his brother's face, dabbing at the gash on his head and the cuts and scrapes on his face. Next he dashed to the bedroom, stripping the bed of its blankets and placing them on Sam. He then began to vigorously rub Sam's arms to get blood flowing back into them. He himself had started to shiver but Sam had not. In fact, he hadn't seen any perceptible movement from Sam at all. He felt again for a pulse. This time he felt nothing, whereas before he was almost positive there was a very faint thrum against his fingers. Dean was sure that Sam was fading fast but he wouldn't let himself believe that Sam had faded completely.

He started chest compressions in an effort to get Sam's heart pumping. He'd pause only again to check Sam's pulse. Sam's breathing wasn't even audible, his chest not rising and falling. Dean could only guess that Sam wasn't breathing either or maybe his lungs were just too cold to push air. Dean was aware that he had begun to shiver violently, his body's temperature trying to regulate. The warmth coming back to him was actually painful, but not as painful as the fact that he still couldn't detect a pulse from Sam.

He didn't quit though. His arms trembled as he continued to pump on Sam's chest, He would pause only to rub Sam's arms some more. He was aware that Sam's body wasn't as stiff as it was, as the cabin began to warm up, the fire doing its job. He felt again for a pulse and this time he felt it, so faint and slow that had it not been for his intense focus, he would not have felt it at all. He pressed his ear to Sam's heart and he could hear that too, ever so faintly like a tiny melody from a broken music box. For a moment, he kept his head there, just listening to the pitiful yet beautiful sound of it.

Then he raced off again. He ran around the house, grabbing more blankets from a linen closet. He covered Sam in them, tucking them around him like a tight cocoon, all the while taking note of his vitals. He found some men's clothing in the bedroom closet and he got out of his wet clothes and changed into them. They were a few sizes too large but they would have to do for now. He gingerly pulled off his socks but felt relief when he saw that his feet and toes had fared considerably better than his hands and fingers. He approached Sam again, putting his hand against Sam's skin. It was still icy to the touch, but Sam's pulse felt slightly stronger. He noted that Sam's limbs had lost some of their rigor and he pulled Sam's arms down carefully, taking care since he still didn't know the extent of Sam's injuries, and tucked them under the blankets. He also gently closed Sam's eyes and for a moment, Sam looked just like he was sleeping, peacefully, wrapped in the blankets but Dean knew better, Sam was precariously perched between life and death, in a frozen limbo. Even Sam's hair was frozen, just starting to drip and shed some of the ice particles and his skin still held a slightly blue hue to it.

He ran to the bathroom, rifling through cabinets and drawers, searching for a first aid kit. He did a silent cheer when he found one, mostly intact. He walked over to Sam, got a pair of scissors, and began carefully unwrapping Sam from his tight blankets. Sam was beginning to tremor ever so slightly and Dean knew this was a positive sign. Sam's body temperature was rising. He cut away at Sam's wet clothes and prepared himself for the injuries he would see. However, he wasn't prepared for the array of bruising that decorated his brother. Sam had bruises covering his entire right side and Dean had no doubt that his ribs were either broken or severely bruised. He wondered how much of it was from the werewolf too. He gingerly flipped Sam on his side and gasped at the colorful display on his upper back. Dean knew that this is where the tree had laid across his brother and the bruises were just the surface injury. He gasped at the idea of what kind of damage could be done to Sam' lungs. Sam's lower back was also heavily bruised and Dean couldn't be sure if Sam's back had been broken too. He did a mental checklist of which organs were located in that region and he knew Sam's kidneys could potentially be at risk. He also saw that Sam's leg looked swollen and disproportionate, guessing that it was most likely broken. He didn't think it was advisable to maneuver Sam's injured body but he knew the more layers he had on the better. He grabbed another flannel shirt from the closet and carefully worked Sam's arms into it so it was backwards but he was clothed. He then put the blankets back in place, wrapping Sam carefully like swaddling a baby. He had done it many times as a child, Sam just a cooing infant, when they had to cut and run on cold frosty nights.

He checked Sam's breathing. It was still very shallow and not completely audible, as was his heartbeat and pulse. They were much slower than Dean would have liked but at least they were present and that was the most important thing. He took some gauze and held it to the gash just above Sam's eyebrow. He secured it there with some tape. He then cleaned up his scratches as best he could. He recognized that both their hands needed warming but for now he'd just focus on raising both their body temperatures. He knew it wasn't the best idea but he then pulled Sam into a sitting position, wrapped a blanket around both he and Sam, and held him against his body, hugging him to keep him warm. He rested his head on top of Sam's, the icy chill of his skin brushing his own. He stayed that way, relishing in the connection and the fact that at least he had his brother with him no matter how seriously he was hurt. Broken bones would heal with time. However, his own heart would never mend if he lost Sam.

He didn't know how it happened but eventually he felt himself nodding off, the adrenaline rush wearing off. Within moments, he was asleep.

oooo

For awhile, Sam just floated. He had no perception of where he was or what was going on. First he felt extremely cold and recalled with horror the moment Lucifer had taken over his body. He remembered the icy chill that had engulfed him before he wrested control of the abomination. Then suddenly he was burning, sweltering in oppressive heat, flames licking at his body, tearing at his insides and peeling at his skin. He questioned if he was somehow still in the pit but then there was a slight sense of security that he was safe, even though he found he could not move his body.

Then there was that otherworldly voice again, telling him he could fix everything. He found himself in the snowy clearing again but this time he no longer felt anything, not the heat, not the cold, just a pleasant numbness.

The setting seemed oddly familiar and profound, like something serious had happened there before. He also pondered how despite the snowy landscape, he felt absolutely nothing.

"Mack! Come on!" A female voice called to him, fondly.

Sam cocked his head, confused. He didn't think he was Mack, or was he? Maybe he knew her somehow?

She ran on ahead of him, laughing, and Sam could see there were three other people ahead of him. There was a couple holding hands, and another guy jokingly tossing snowballs at them. Then just as suddenly the mood changed and someone was yelling for help. There was blood, and vacant stares from dead eyes and Sam felt a scream ripping from his throat until everything went black.

oooo

Dean woke to the feeling of extreme warmth against his skin. He was disoriented and everything seemed fuzzy. He was sitting on a couch with a weight pressed against him when it all came rushing back.

_Sam!_ His mind screamed.

Sam was still resting against him, no longer cold but feeling like he was burning up.

Dean had just managed to get himself up, trying not to panic over Sam's spike in temperature, to tend to his brother when a visceral scream tore from Sam's lips. Sam attempted to clamor away and sit up himself. Dean watched in horror as Sam's eyes opened wide and looked dizzily around the room, looking in empty corners as if seeing something that was not there, then he fell back limp.

For a moment, Dean froze. He had never heard anything quite like the gut wrenching, blood curdling scream that exploded from Sam. Then he reacted. He rushed over to his brother and checked for a pulse. He felt it easily this time as it was racing very quickly. Sam's face was flushed with fever and his breathing was fast and labored, a congested, wet sound coming from his brother's lungs.

"Sammy! Sam!" He yelled, tapping his brother on his face. He dug his knuckles hard into Sam's sternum to evoke a response but Sam was deeply unconscious once more. He wasn't sure what had happened exactly but Sam appeared to be hallucinating. The thought sat like cement in Dean's gut that Sam's wall had come down. He considered the implications of being hit by a tree trunk and whether or not it classified both literally and figuratively as enough force to bring it crashing down, breaking it into tiny pieces. He also felt the immense burden of guilt at the possibility that his gunshot had caused the avalanche that had done this to his brother. However, Dean tossed the thoughts aside and hurried to go wet some towels in an attempt to bring Sam's high temperature down.

ooooo

Sam found himself in the clearing again. His hands were covered in blood, pressed over a large wound on the girl who had just been smiling at him moments before.

She looked like she had been eviscerated by an animal.

_Was he that animal?_

"Oh my God! Ruth! Ruth!" The other girl in their group was screaming, falling to her knees in the snow. The guy who was with her held her back.

"Hey, Mack. I think she's gone. We need to get out of here," one of the males said.

Sam just sat there staring at her. Had he killed her? He wasn't sure. Something told him that he was responsible though and the blood on his hands was enough proof for him.

He knew deep down that there was still something he needed to fix. Was this it? Was this what he had to atone for?

He felt dizzy and nauseous. He slowly got to his feet but found himself swaying and then pitching face down in the snow.

ooooo

Dean took the wet cloth and held it on Sam's forehead, and wiped down his sweaty face. Then he attempted to unravel Sam from the blankets. The cabin was toasty warm now and given Sam's high temperature, it seemed logical that he no longer needed so much insulation. Sam began to cough, barking sounds coming from deep inside his chest and Dean felt both anger and guilt over going on this hunt at all. He knew Sam hadn't been feeling well and the last thing he needed was to wind up injured too.

Sam's cheeks were scarlet and frostbitten. He had lost the blue color to his skin but his lips appeared purplish in color. Dean knew this was from lack of oxygen based on Sam's breathing.

Sam moaned and turned his face away from Dean.

"Good," Dean said audibly. Sam was waking up again and he was moving.

Sam's eyelids flickered open, revealing glassy, unfocused eyes.

"Sam?" Dean questioned.

Sam looked like he didn't recognize him at all.

"Dead," Sam croaked out. "I killed her."

Dean was taken aback. Who was Sam talking about? They had both killed innumerable supernatural creatures. Could Sam be talking about one of them? He had no idea. Could he be remembering remnants of when he was soulless? Was this proof that his wall was broken? Maybe he remembered everything he did when he lost his soul or even his time in hell.

"No Sam. Everything's fine," he soothed. "You didn't kill anyone."

Sam continued to stare at him with the dazed look in his eyes and Dean was frightened at the implications of his brother's current state.

"We have to get your temperature down," Dean said, getting up to go see if he could find ice cubes in the refrigerator to wrap in a towel. He knew that there was more to the reason he turned away than just the matter of necessity. His little brother didn't seem to recognize him and it was so _painful _that he couldn't bear it_._ He only made it about halfway across the room though when Sam commenced screaming again.

Dean ran back over to Sam, never feeling so completely powerless and helpless in his life. The snow was still falling with such intensity that Dean could hear it hitting the roof. He had no means to call for help, his cellphone about as useless as he felt.

He grabbed Sam who was now thrashing, eyes affixed to the corner. Dean stared at the spot himself but could not see what Sam saw and it shook him to his very core.

ooooo

Waking up had been very confusing. Sam expected to wake up on the cold snowy ground with blood plastered all over him, yet he was in a cabin with someone else. He thought he knew him but it was all so muddled in his brain. He wanted desperately to tell him he needed help but he felt completely paralyzed. Then there was that figure again, staring at him malevolently from the corner of the room with accusing eyes.

"Don't listen to him," the spectre instructed. "Everything is not fine. Ruth was my girlfriend and you killed her," he said in a harsh, whispered tone. "We were going to have a future together but now it's gone and it's your fault."

Sam shook his head vehemently, but then he remembered all the blood and he knew it had to be true. He screamed as the figure swiftly disappeared and then flickered, reappearing at his side. He put his hand on Sam's head and then he was back in the clearing.

"Mack, are you okay?"

Someone was talking to him. However, he was facedown and gasping now, the snow from the ground clogging his airway but he couldn't get up, his limbs would not cooperate.

Oooo

Dean tried to grab hold of Sam's flailing limbs but it was extremely difficult. Then he noticed that Sam had suddenly grown still and his face was red, his lips tight and even darker purple than before. Sam was having trouble breathing. Dean instantly lifted Sam up into a sitting position on the couch as Sam pursed his lips and drew in breaths that sounded more like screeching sounds than actual breathing that ripped through his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He rubbed circles on Sam's back trying to calm him, unsure if this was Sam panicking, his lung infection or a combination. Then Sam's struggling stopped and Dean couldn't hear any breathing at all.

TBC

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I want to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who took up the call and reviewed last chapter. I was honestly blown away and couldn't stop smiling. It meant the world to me. I have to respond to reviews still so if you haven't heard from me, you will soon. I am a tad worried about this chapter because I am concerned that it might be confusing with the intertwining stories. Please let me know what you think. I also hope Elena likes the conclusion to the story and the special shoutout to her too :)

* * *

He frantically placed Sam back on the couch, tipping his head back. However, Sam's mouth was clenched shut.

"Come on Sammy!" Dean yelled as he tried to pry it open. Sam looked like he was holding his breath.

"Sammy, please. Come on!" He yelled. He needed Sam to breathe but he had gone completely lax now, his body slack and limp. He knew this was no longer a potential panic attack but an emergency situation and he began rescue breathing for his brother, squeezing his nose shut and watching Sam's chest rise and fall as he gave him air.

Dean was frantic but then suddenly Sam was taking in air, sucking it in greedily as if he had just been under water.

Dean just sat there placing his head on his brother's chest as it rose and fell. The amount of wheezing was disconcerting but again he didn't care. This time though, he let himself fall apart. He choked back a sob of his own over the seemingly insurmountable odds stacked against them both. How in the hell was he going to get help for Sam?

ooooo

Sam found himself being helped up, the snow wiped from his face.

Ruth was still on the ground, her blood soaking into the snow and the mask of death on her face.

"You with us man? You scared me. You were having some kind of panic attack."

The couple were huddled together, the girl sobbing into the guy's jacket. _Emmett and Mariah. _He vaguely remembered their names but not much about how they knew each other. The one telling him that he'd scared him was Will. He remembered that too. He still didn't know the spectre's name or see him anywhere around him, however.

Then they were moving, through heavy snow cover, blizzard conditions all around them.

"I'm too tired!" Mariah whined as she tripped through the drifts.

Emmett helped her up and let her lean heavily on him.

"It's this way!" Sam found himself saying, but his voice sounded foreign and unlike his own. "It's not that far. We just have to keep walking." Somehow he knew that he was wrong though, that if they went this way they wouldn't make it. Yet he couldn't bring himself to form the words, as if everything had been set in motion. They were doomed and no one was going to stop it. Why couldn't he stop it? Was he that cruel, that _cold_?

No! He shouted, but he didn't hear the words come out, just saw the people, _his friends,_ walking the death march ahead of him.

ooooo

"No!" Sam shouted, coming to with a start.

Dean got up from where he had settled himself in an old rocking chair where he could watch over Sam. After he had stopped breathing, Dean had propped Sam up on pillows, trying to ease the breathing process as much as possible. He moved back over to his brother's side.

"Sam…Sammy?" he stuttered.

Sam had the look again, one of complete confusion, glassy eyes staring at the corner.

Dean struggled to maintain composure. He had just pulled himself together and didn't need to go losing it again.

He again turned away from Sam. The less he looked into eyes that did not recognize him the better.

Yet Sam's eyes were so familiar.

_Like when he was soulless._

The thought whipped through his mind like a tornado, leaving devastation in its wake.

It was just like that, he knew it. Sam was with him, yet he wasn't, at least not mentally. Sam was Sam, yet he wasn't that either.

Again, he wondered if this was all part of the wall coming down. Maybe Sam was now a mere shell, burdened with a soul that had been "skinned alive" as Castiel had put it. He thought briefly of calling for the angel but he knew it was useless. He was busy with his own issues.

He tried to get his mind off of it, heading toward the kitchen. He should see if there was soup he decided. Maybe if Sam got some small nourishment in him, he'd be less delirious. Maybe this was indeed the fever and not a permanent state. He knew he could use some himself.

He found an old dented can of chicken soup in the cabinet, a pot and he got it on the stove. When it was finished, he poured it into two chipped coffee mugs.

Sam was dozing again, his breathing still harsh, small moans escaping his lips.

He lifted his brother's head, holding the cup to his lips, trying to get some liquid into his mouth.

Sam latched on to his hand for a second and for the briefest of moments, Dean swore he saw recognition in Sam's eyes.

"Come on Sam. Just have a couple sips, okay?" He begged.

Sam obeyed, Dean guiding him as he sipped the soup.

Dean put it down, deciding to test out Sam's lucidity.

"Sam do you know where you are?"

Sam looked at him, making eye contact but then focusing on the corner of the cabin again.

"Who….who are you?" Dean asked, hesitating to ask, afraid of the answer.

"Mack," Sam rasped out, faintly. Then he repeated it more loudly. "Mack!"

"No Sammy, you're Sam," he asserted. He wouldn't have his baby brother, _his Sammy_, think anything otherwise.

"Who…who am I?" Dean asked even more hesitantly.

"Mack," Sam said again, fearfully just looking at the corner. "Emmett. Mariah. Ruth. Will."

Dean just stared at Sam as he rattled off names that didn't make sense, speechless, feeling like he didn't know who he was anymore either.

ooooo

Sam again found himself in the cabin, with the calming presence by his side, giving him something to eat. _Dean._ It was his brother. He remembered everything now, the hunt, the pressure, the panic. For the first time, he registered pain and knew he had to be hurt. Each breath caused searing anguish in his chest so he took slower breaths to try to prevent the agony. His back hurt but anything below that just sort of felt dull and not there. Despite this, he latched on to Dean's hand and looked pleadingly in his eyes. He had come to rely on these fleeting moments in his consciousness, a break from the nightmarish memories of being Mack. Was he Mack when he was soulless? He imagined that he had used a number of aliases at that time. Was that how he knew all these people? Even though everything was still not clear in his brain, he remembered that vividly, that he had once roamed the Earth without his soul.

The cup was held to his lips and his throat was dry so he sipped the lukewarm liquid.

Then there was the spectre, taunting him again.

"You are sitting there eating while your friends are dead? You know that right? Because of you. They trusted you."

Then Sam saw it all. Emmett had opted to stay behind with Mariah as he realized that they were hopelessly lost. He saw a snapshot of their frozen bodies partially buried in the snow. Will had followed along with him but then he'd started to slow him down. He had to stop several times for him. Finally he placed him near a tree, promising to come back for him but he knew it was a lie. He saw Will too, shivering until his temperature dropped so low he couldn't do it anymore. Then he was lifeless, that vacant stare in his eyes. Yet, he had walked on. He never saw how the spectre died. Perhaps it was before Ruth, but he had to have been there in order to have such disdain and anger for him. How could he do it? How could he leave those people out there?

"You see?" The spectre asked him.

But Sam didn't want to see. He felt dizzy as everything began to spin, blurring the two locations of the snowy woods and the cabin until it was all just a kaleidoscope of colors.

He felt his eyes slipping closed and he was grateful for the respite.

oooo

Dean was about to give Sam some more soup, still horrified over the idea that Sam seemed delusional when he began to stare at the corner again.

"Sam, look at me," he instructed, putting the cup down, and pulling Sam's face forward so he was locking eyes with him. However, Sam's eyes had that distant stare again as if he was remembering something, the same blank stare he had in the hotel room when he collapsed after the arachne hunt.

"I killed them all," Sam said so softly that Dean had to strain to hear him. Then Sam's eyes slipped shut and Dean was almost relieved that he didn't have to see those eyes any longer, and that he wouldn't have to hear Sam condemn himself again.

Sam continued to breathe erratically and his coughing had increased. Dean went back to his chair and sipped absentmindedly on his soup. He realized it was tepid now. He set it aside on the small endtable and got up.

"You're Sam, not Mack," Dean said, aloud. He grabbed another pillow from the bedroom and placed it under Sam's broken leg. The bruising was spectacular on it now and it was so swollen that Sam's foot hardly resembled one. He then settled himself next to Sam again, propping him up against him to ease his breathing again. "And I'm Dean, you're brother. There is nothing that is going to change that. You hear me Sam?" He continued, whispering in his ear. "You can be selfish and stubborn to the point that you infuriate me, but you can be empathetic and selfless that it pisses me off too. Please hear me," he begged.

He didn't care what Sam had done soulless. That wasn't his Sam. This was his Sam, the one he held close to him and he wasn't letting go.

oooo

Dean had fallen asleep that way and the sun had just come up on a second day when he awoke to a knock at the door.

Instantly the skin prickled on the back of his neck. Who could be knocking way out here in the middle of nowhere? He carefully laid Sam back down. He still had his gun on him and he grabbed it. He slowly headed for the door.

"Who's there?" He barked.

He thought he heard the sound of a woman's voice but he wasn't taking chances.

"It's Elena, from down the road," she squeaked.

He peeked out the window, straining to see and he could make out a young woman standing there, bundled up against the cold. She was riding a snowmobile and started running quickly toward it once she heard his voice and saw him peeking at her. Apparently he had scared her off.

He wasn't sure if she could be trusted but he couldn't let his one chance at saving Sam pass him by.

He pulled open the door and rushed toward her, grabbing her by the arm.

"Let me go!" She yelled. She tried to stomp on his foot and she twisted his frostbitten hand, causing him to yelp in pain.

She got out of his grasp and rushed back over to her transport when suddenly Dean's cries of pain stopped her.

"You hurt?" She asked, keeping her distance.

"Not as bad as my brother," he said, still clutching his hand.

She paused, still keeping a wide berth between her and Dean.

"I know the guy who owns this cabin," she began. "He's up in Florida for the season. When I saw the smoke coming from the chimney, I thought maybe he was back or something had happened. What's wrong with your brother?" She asked, softening. She moved closer this time but still gave him a watchful eye.

"Come with me," Dean said.

She looked slightly nervous but followed him into the cabin and over to Sam on the couch.

Sam's face was clammy and swollen looking. Blood was seeping through the bandage on his head and his hands didn't look good at all. His breathing had grown more labored, a sharp wheeze with every exhale.

She knelt down beside Sam, putting her hand on his forehead.

"This looks bad," she said. "He's burning up."

"Got caught up in an avalanche and a tree rolled on to him. He's pretty out of it. I'm positive he has some broken bones, and he's sick too."

"I have some basic first aid skills but nothing that can help him. He needs a hospital," She said. Dean noticed the endearing look she had on her face when she looked at Sam, as if she was remembering something.

"Elena," Sam mumbled.

She jumped back at the sound of her name, nearly falling on to the floor.

Dean looked equally as confused as she did. How on earth could Sam know her name? Had he heard her say it outside the door?

"Look he needs help," Dean said, cutting to the chase.

Elena nodded and rushed back outside. She returned with a radio and began to notify the Ranger's station.

Everything was a blur after that. They arrived on snowmobiles within the span of about thirty minutes and rescue personnel began attending to Sam.

Dean hovered nearby as they carefully slid a backboard under Sam, affixed him with a neck brace and lifted him off the couch.

They then began to access his vitals.

"Kid is barely breathing," the medic said.

An oxygen mask was fitted over Sam's face and Dean watched as it fogged up only intermittently, revealing just how shallow Sam's breaths were.

Another medic came over to assess Dean but he shooed them away. He knew he had frostbite on his fingers but otherwise he was fine.

Sam didn't stir at all and Dean was actually grateful. He'd rather not see any more of his brother writhing and screaming in fear or agony, possibly both.

They had to fit Sam on to a stretcher that hooked to the back of the snowmobile while Dean rode on the back of another. They would be taken to the ranger's station where an ambulance would be waiting to take Sam to the hospital.

As they drove, each time they went over any kind of bump, Dean would glance behind to make sure Sam was okay, that he was still where he was supposed to be.

They arrived at the ranger's station and Dean could see the ambulance sirens in the distance casting reflections off of the deep, white snow. Dean could see that the road leading away was mostly clear and that hopefully Sam would be at the hospital soon.

The EMTs rushed over to their patient and again pushed Dean aside.

They began shouting orders about getting IVs started and hooking Sam to a heart monitor. One of the medics decided right there on the spot that it was best to intubate Sam. Dean watched fearfully as they tilted Sam's head back and pushed the tube down his throat, a little too roughly for his liking, but he knew they were trying to help.

Again, they tried to aid Dean but he refused treatment. When they told Dean he couldn't ride in the ambulance with Sam, he felt his mind teetering on the edge. He had an inane urge to shout expletives at them but he did need their help.

Elena was with them the whole time, watching nervously. She wore a necklace which held a ring on it and nervously pulled it up and down the chain. Dean had told her she could return home but she seemed reluctant.

"Are you Mack?" The medic asked.

Dean's ears instantly perked up at the name.

"No I'm Dean, his brother."

"Well he was asking for a Mack right before we intubated him. He couldn't seem to stop mumbling about it."

Dean saw Elena's face visibly blanch as she walked away and headed in the other direction. He had no clue what was going on anymore.

"I think he's confused. You know, the fever and everything."

Dean approached the stretcher looking down at Sam. He looked truly awful, somehow still sweating even though they were outside. They had immobilized his leg and he was being bagged by the medic.

Dean found himself being ushered aside toward another ambulance.

"Look, how much use you going to be to your brother without hands?" The EMT asked him. Something must have clicked in his brain because next thing he knew he was being placed into an ambulance of his own, the medics wrapping bandages around his blistered hands.

Dean looked through the windows of the ambulance and saw Sam being loaded into the other one. He felt tired and heavy, unaware that it would be at least 24 hours before he saw his brother again.

ooooo

"You need to sit still!" The nurse said impatiently as she tried to change the bandages on his hands. He never really had frostbite before and was unaware that part of the treatment was being confined to a hospital bed with an IV hooked in his arm. Apparently they didn't know how serious the damage was unless they admitted him for observation. He knew some of his hands were okay, the parts he could feel. His fingers were blistered and those had to be drained and bandaged. He was having prickly sensations through his fingers though which evidently was a good sign, even if it did hurt a lot.

When they had gotten to the hospital, he had passed out. The doctors said he was slightly dehydrated and suffering from exhaustion. He immediately had asked for updates on Sam but was met with a lot of vague responses that had his temperature boiling.

After several hours of being given the runaround, Sam's doctor came in to give him the full report on his brother's condition.

"Is he conscious?" Dean asked him right away.

"No he's not. We expect that is from the severe concussion, pneumonia or a combination of both."

"He has pneumonia?" Dean asked, frightened. He knew Sam was sick but he hadn't expected it to be something so serious.

"Yes and the fact that he has a few broken ribs and bruised lungs complicates thing. He's having a lot of trouble breathing so we have him on a ventilator."

Dean's heart sunk. He hated seeing his little brother not breathing on his own more than anything else. Dean looked up, realizing the doctor had stopped speaking.

"Do you want me to continue or you need a break?"

"No, tell me. What else?"

"He has a broken femur which is going to require surgery. However, in Sam's weakened condition, it's just not possible. We've had to use external fixation for now to hold the bones together. His femur has split into three pieces but right now the break seems stable."

"Will he be able to walk okay? After the surgery I mean?"

The doctor looked concerned for a moment and Dean knew he was hesitating for a reason.

"What about Sam's back?" He asked pointedly. He knew Sam's back had taken the brunt of the impact and there was real risk of spinal injury.

"The x rays are inconclusive right now."

"What?" Dean asked incredulously.

"There doesn't appear to be any broken vertebra but there is a lot of swelling so it's hard to say."

"Are you saying he could be paralyzed?"

"Mr. Singer, I think we have more pressing concerns at the moment like making sure Sam recovers from his pneumonia."

Dean went completely silent, not wanting to hear anymore.

"Take me to him," he said at last.

ooooo

Dean didn't have to do much bargaining with the doctors to get released. They seemed to catch on that he wasn't going anywhere so they could keep just as much an eye on him in the hospital even if they released him.

Dean took the elevator up to the ICU. He wasn't surprised that given all of Sam's injuries that it's where he would be.

Dean immediately registered the harsh sound of the ventilator as it did the breathing for Sam. He was propped up on pillows, his hands also heavily bandaged like his own. Sam's leg was partly protruding through the blanket and Dean lifted it, inhaling a sharp intake of breath at the metal arrangement that went from the top of Sam's leg to nearly the bottom. There was a metal bar and screws that went directly into Sam. The skin was pink and puckered where the screws went into his brother's leg. Dean could only imagine the amount of pain Sam would have when he woke up or would he? The doctors still didn't know about his spine.

His hands were still pretty useless but Dean did the only thing he felt he could do to help his brother now. He lifted the blankets and tucked them around him to stave off any chill.

ooooo

Sam had been in the same state for just over a week, feverish, unresponsive and still on a breathing tube as Dean kept vigil. The doctors still couldn't be sure if Sam had suffered a lasting spinal injury until he woke up. Dean didn't know the status of Sam's wall either and if maybe Sam was likely to wake up lucid or caught up in an endless loop of memories from when he was soulless or his time in hell.

The frostbite on both their hands seemed to be healing okay but for Dean, it was just a minor victory. Dean was clutching Sam's clammy, now unbandaged hand, when he got a visitor. It was Elena. Dean had nearly forgotten about her with everything that had happened. He had also almost forgotten about the awkward way they left things.

Dean met her outside the door and she shifted from foot to foot.

"Can I go in?" She asked.

"Yeah sure," Dean said, even though he was completely perplexed by the whole thing. She had helped to save their life and he understood empathy but she didn't even know Sam. _Or did she?_

He watched as she walked over to his bedside and how she tenderly ran her hands through his hair. Dean looked away, feeling like he was intruding on something.

"How is he?" She asked.

"Holding his own," Dean said, simply, adopting the language of the doctors. "Busted leg, ribs, and ah…maybe a spinal injury," he said, stuttering.

"At least he's alive."

There was a curtness to her tone that wasn't lost on Dean and he eyed her carefully.

"Is it okay if I check in on him?" She asked.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, directly, answering her question with one of his own.

"What do you mean?" She asked, putting her guard up. "I told you. My name is Elena."

"How do you know my brother?" Dean asked, continuing his interrogation. Things just weren't adding up for him.

"I…I don't," she said.

"It's just the way you look at Sam, like you know him personally or he reminds you of someone or something."

"My brother," She admitted. "He reminds me of my brother. He died last year in that same area where Sam got hurt. He was out snowshoeing with some friends. As near as the police could tell, his girlfriend was killed by an animal attack. My brother and the others tried to get out of the woods but they got lost and confused, most likely hypothermia set in. They found my brother last. They think he was trying to get them help but…" She stopped, her voice breaking into a small sob.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, speechless.

"His name was Mack."

Dean stopped cold suddenly.

"It's just when I heard Sam say my name and then his name, I felt like he was connected to him somehow. I thought maybe he could let me know if he was okay." She was fidgeting with her necklace again, looking anxious.

Dean watched her, fixated on the necklace, as realization hit his brain. So Mack was a real person and Sam knew him somehow. Yet how could Sam know him? Of course there was the fact that he was soulless but he was being pragmatic here. Elena didn't know Sam. If Sam had been close to Mack, surely she would know him too.

Plus there were all those things Sam had said about killing someone and how they were all dead. It was if he was seeing Mack's memories or something. Dean felt the sudden flare of hope too that Sam's wall might just be intact too, but still there was the matter of how Sam knew all this.

"A ghost." The words dribbled off of Dean's lips so smoothly that he didn't have time to stop himself.

"What?" She asked.

"I think your brother is a ghost," he said, matter of factly. It made sense. He didn't care at the moment about her fragility. Right now what mattered was Sam and if her brother was a ghost and he was taunting Sam, he had to go.

"Listen," Dean continued. "You don't know my brother but yet he knows your brother's name and your name too. When we were in that cabin, he kept talking about Mack and Ruth," Dean said, remembering.

"Wait, how do you know his girlfriend's name?" She asked, nervously.

"Sam said it. He also mentioned someone named Will."

"Mack's best friend," she admitted.

Everything Elena said just confirmed what Dean was already thinking. Sam had been seeing Mack in the cabin and somehow he had pulled some sort of Jedi mind trick so Sam believed he was Mack. The whole thing sounded confusing even to Dean yet made so much sense.

"Sometimes when people die, they get trapped here. I think your brother is trapped and that Sam was seeing him in that cabin. He saw things that weren't there. That necklace. Was it his?"

"The ring was his. It was an engagement ring he was going to give to Ruth."

"Was your brother cremated?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I think he's connected to that ring. I have to destroy it."

"No," she shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

"Listen, I think my brother's life depends on it. Somehow your brother is latched on to mine and Sam thinks he's Mack and that Mack's memories are his."

She contemplated this and Dean understood this was a lot for her to handle, a lot for anyone not versed in the supernatural to handle. The fact that she was standing there hearing him out and not running away screaming was a good sign.

"I thought I was crazy," she said.

"About what?" Dean asked.

"When I was in the woods before, I swore that I could feel his presence. Sometimes I feel him with me but there's always something else. I feel this overwhelming burden of guilt like I just know he can't let what happened go. I know my brother felt responsible for what happened to Ruth and his friends. He was always like that, accepting of everything, even if it wasn't his fault.

"Sam is like that too," Dean admitted, looking over at his brother in the hospital bed.

She looked at Sam too as she removed the necklace from around her neck.

"Will he be at peace?" She asked plaintively, handing over the ring.

"Yes, I think so."

She walked away, apparently satisfied with his answer but Dean didn't really know the answer to that and he wondered if Sam would ever be at peace too.

ooooo

Dean reluctantly left the hospital to destroy the ring. He also conducted a brief investigation to gain access to the police files and photos regarding Mack's case. He saw that Ruth had been mauled viciously and deep down he wondered if it was the work of their werewolf friend back before he got methodical about his kills. It seemed what Elena said had been true. Mack and his friends had all died of exposure and frostbite. Mack's body was found almost exactly where he'd found Sam. Had Sam first met him there? In the woods?

Everything he read about Mack reminded him of Sam. He was a real boy scout going out of his way to help people. He even sort of resembled Sam with the long shaggy hair and boyish looks. However, somehow he got stuck here, so caught up in his guilt, basically a vengeful ghost.

He didn't know if Sam had been seeing Mack in his head while he was unconscious in the hospital but he hoped not. Either way, he hoped that Mack was gone now and that Sam, as well as Elena, would be free of him. He also hoped that Mack would be free of himself.

When Dean returned, he was both elated and dismayed to discover Sam had awakened. He didn't like the idea of Sam waking up to strangers and not to him. He rushed into his room to see Sam propped up in bed, the breathing tube gone and a nasal cannula in its place. Sam's color looked better and he turned to face Dean as he walked in the room.

"Dean," Sam said, breathily as Dean approached the bed. Dean had to swallow back a relieved sob at the fact that Sam remembered him.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked.

"Hurts," Sam admitted.

"Where?"

Sam made a motion with his hand to indicate pretty much everything.

"My leg," he said, when he caught his breath.

Dean caught his breath too because he knew it had to mean that Sam's spine was okay.

Dean called for the doctor to ensure that Sam wasn't in continued pain and they administered more pain medication. The doctor told Dean that Sam seemed to be recovering. His lungs were clearing and Sam responded to stimuli when his legs were touched which meant the swelling was going down on his spine. The doctor was hopeful that Sam would make a full recovery.

ooooo

Over the course of the next couple days, Sam drifted in and out of consciousness due to the necessity of being doped up on powerful pain killers. He still struggled with deep breaths as his broken ribs and clearing congestion still made it incredibly difficult to breathe. Dean had tried reaching Bobby but it seemed he was incommunicado so it was just him and Sam. However, that's the way it often was and he was fine with it. He just needed his brother coherent so they could talk.

He was shocked when after returning from a much needed coffee break, he found Sam wide awake in his bed, although the red rimming around his eyes indicated he was fighting sleep. Sam was scheduled for surgery the next day to put his busted leg back together and Dean was not going to let the chance pass him by to talk to Sam about what happened.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked, sitting down in the chair beside Sam's bed.

Sam shrugged and refused to make eye contact.

"Like a robot," Sam said, finally, gesturing to his leg. Although he felt like he had been one literally too, an automatic killing machine, but he wasn't going to tell Dean that.

"Well you'll be free of that contraption tomorrow. How's the pain?"

Sam shrugged.

"Is there anything you want to talk to me about?" Dean asked, pointedly.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam said, sighing, sucking in a mouthful of air like he was winded.

"Do you remember everything that happened?"

Of course he did, even though more than anything he'd like to forget, or better yet, _wished_ it never happened at all.

"We were on a werewolf hunt. A real psycho, like me," Sam said disgustedly.

"What about Mack?" Dean asked, finding it incredibly hard to ignore Sam's comment for the moment.

Sam looked up at Dean in shock. Then he looked down again and turned his face away. Dean swore he saw unshed tears in Sam's eyes.

"I killed people Dean," Sam said, finally. "It must have been when I was soulless. I called myself Mack and I murdered some girl. Her name was Ruth and she was going to marry this guy. He was so angry with me Dean." Sam shuddered so violently then that his teeth chattered.

"Sam, stop," Dean said soothingly. He approached Sam and adjusted the blankets around him to warm him up.

"No Dean. You can't keep doing this," Sam said, shrugging out of them. "I'm guilty Dean. It's like I told you before. I have to fix things. It's not just her blood on my hands either. There were others Dean. I led this guy's friends to their deaths."

"It wasn't you Sam!" Dean blurted.

"Dean, stop it!" Sam yelled. "It was me!" Sam choked on a sob and then began violently coughing and gasping, much in the same way Dean remembered from the cabin.

Dean acted quickly and grabbed the oxygen mask from next to Sam's bed. They had left it there in case Sam needed it. He placed it over Sam's face and he didn't fight it on him. Sam held on to Dean's arm for dear life and sucked in the air.

"Nice and slow Sam, okay?" Dean instructed, waiting for Sam's breathing to regulate.

"You okay?" Dean asked, when Sam's breathing had evened out.

Sam nodded, apparently too tired to talk. Dean affixed the mask to his brother's face and arranged his head on the pillows.

"Now you need to hear me out, okay Sam?"

Sam nodded again.

"I don't want you to say anything, just listen and nod or shake your head yes or no for questions."

Sam gave Dean a weak salute and rolled his eyes. Dean almost smiled because it was such a geeky little brother thing to do.

"You weren't Mack."

Sam looked ready to protest again but Dean waved his hand and Sam just sat there, breathing in and out, fogging up the oxygen mask.

"You thought you were Mack, I know. However, Mack was a ghost Sam."

A ghost? Sam pondered for a minute, still not really getting it.

"Did you see someone in the cabin?"

Sam nodded.

"That was Mack. You were seeing his memories."

Then suddenly it all made sense to Sam. It was why he never saw the spectre _in_ the memories. He was the spectre or seeing it from his point of view. The ghost just wanted him to believe he was him or maybe he wanted someone else to carry the burden too.

Sam slipped the oxygen mask off his face, stopping Dean who was about to make him put it back on.

"I'm okay. I get it," Sam said, breathlessly. "There was so much guilt. It felt like me."

"That's probably why the ghost latched on to you Sam. You and Mack weren't that far apart. He was filled with guilt."

"He felt like he killed his friends and I felt that too, like I'd done all those things."

"Like how you feel you did everything when you were soulless?"

Sam didn't say anything then, just sat deep in thought.

"This is what guilt does Sam. It eats you alive, and sometimes even eats you in death, like Mack."

Dean eyed Sam who looked pensive so he continued.

"I did some digging. I think maybe the werewolf got his girlfriend. Then he tried to get his friends out of the woods but they got lost."

"I saw him in the woods," Sam admitted. "I got disoriented too when I was following him and then I just remember something coming down on me."

"He was turning vengeful Sam. He got you to follow him and you almost died."

"I don't think so," Sam said. "He just seemed like he was in a lot of pain. I don't think he knew what he was doing. I don't blame him."

"Why do you find it so easy to forgive others, but not yourself?" Dean asked, almost frustrated.

"Mack was different than me. He was a scared kid. I was a monster."

"Sammy, please. You had no control over what you did. And don't you dare compare yourself to that werewolf ever again. That werewolf took pleasure in what he did Sam. That's not who you are. It's time you forgave yourself."

Sam grew silent pondering the weight of Dean's words.

"What happened to Mack?" Sam asked, breaking the silence. He did want to know.

"You aren't seeing him anymore, are you?" Dean asked.

"No, not since the cabin."

"Big brother took care of it," Dean answered, simply.

Sam just nodded, feeling his eyes start to close. He prayed Mack found peace, no longer tied to the world by his guilt. He knew there was more to his story but that's all that mattered for now and he was exhausted. There was also so much more he felt he still had to make right, so many images of terrible things he had done. Before he fell asleep though, he knew there was one thing he needed to make right now.

"You need to forgive yourself too, Dean," Sam began, softly. "You think I don't know? The way you look at me Dean? It's obvious. You feel guilty about giving me back my soul, what the future will bring. You feel guilty about me being in this hospital bed. You did what you had to do Dean. You saved me."

Dean was taken aback

"I'm here for you too," Sam finished.

"Thanks," Dean said, smiling, watching as Sam fell into a peaceful slumber.

The New Year had started out as horribly as any New Year could but right now Dean had hope. The weight of the world they each carried was cumbersome but it was a bit lighter when they carried it together.

The End

End Notes: I really hope you liked the story and that you will again, please review. I also hope to see you next story which will be really soon and set in season 10. I have a little request to ask of you too. Can anyone tell me why I picked the names Mack and Ruth? Bonus points to you if you can tell me why ;)


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